'I don't know you personally, do I?' continued Gideon, examining his
unresisting prisoner. 'Never mind, I know your friends. They are your
friends, are they not?'
'I do not understand you,' said Morris.
'You had possibly something to do with a piano?' suggested Gideon.
'A piano!' cried Morris, convulsively clasping Gideon by the arm. 'Then
you're the other man! Where is it? Where is the body? And did you cash
the draft?'
'Where is the body? This is very strange,' mused Gideon. 'Do you want
the body?'
'Want it?' cried Morris. 'My whole fortune depends upon it! I lost it.
Where is it? Take me to it?
'O, you want it, do you? And the other man, Dickson--does he want it?'
enquired Gideon.
'Who do you mean by Dickson? O, Michael Finsbury! Why, of course he
does! He lost it too. If he had it, he'd have won the tontine tomorrow.'
'Michael Finsbury! Not the solicitor?' cried Gideon. 'Yes, the
solicitor,' said Morris. 'But where is the body?'
'Then that is why he sent the brief! What is Mr Finsbury's private
address?' asked Gideon.
'233 King's Road. What brief? Where are you going? Where is the body?'
cried Morris, clinging to Gideon's arm.
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